The Other Moriarty
by ZiggyPlayGuitar
Summary: James Moriarty's genius half-sister comes out to play alongside the consulting detective and the doctor but when she becomes the target of a killing cult will her large family and Sherlock help the government detective? Whilst Sherlock becomes stuck in the whirlwind that is Marilyn Moriarty, James Moriarty will do anything to keep them apart. MorMor. Sherlock/OC. Mystrade.
1. Chapter One

**Author Note:** This is my first Sherlock fanfiction and I hope its good enough for you all; I'm terrible nervous to post this story. This takes place before The Great Game and after The Blind Banker; Moriarty will, hopefully, be a main character along with Mycroft, Lestrade and our favourite consulting detective and his blogger. Irene Adler will be present in this story and I plan to get Moriarty and Sherlock fighting on the same side for a large amount of the story to protect Marilyn. I won't wreck anything else for you all.

**Warnings: **Mystrade, Sherlock/OC, a bit of Sherlock/Irene and a large amount of MorMor. Violent deaths, contains bad language, sexy times, family times, drugs, killings, Angst; jealousy, devotion, gory descriptions, BAMF Mycroft/John/Sherlock/Marilyn/James/Sebastian and much more. Might be a bit OOC; but I'll try not to! Enjoy and please review!

Any mistakes are my own; I do not have a Beta for this story.

**CHAPTER ONE**

**Mabel Davidson**

Marilyn Moriarty is the complete opposite to her half-brother James Moriarty. With her long golden hair and sculpted features, she looks more like a model than a Government Detective. Her slender neck leads to her broad shoulders, towards her hourglass figure and firm bottom. Her rounded breasts and never-ending legs often catch the attention of most straight - and sometimes gay - men. She is beautiful, her sun kissed skin blends in nicely with her golden - nearly strawberry blonde - hair and her liquid but clear blue/grey eyes.

Not only are her looks the completely different to her beady eyed, sharp-looking brother. Her personality is different too. James is cruel, vain and selfish whilst Marilyn is generous, polite and vivacious. However, they do have some things in common. They're both incredible clever, many people have gone as far as to call them geniuses. Their intelligence is well above average. They're both bad-tempered and manipulative, but the main flaw for both of them is their fixation for playing dangerous games that involve the harm of others.

Marilyn knows when the game gets too dangerous - when its time to stop, however James never knows when enough is enough and that's how they went their separate ways. Marilyn went on to gain a minor position in the British Government whilst James became addicted to the long-lost games of murder.

**X-X-X**

"You better behave, Marilyn! There is a mute button! And I will use it!" Marilyn's assistant - Mayleen Harper - warns as she peers down at the bright-eyed politician through the webcam of her laptop.

"You've repeated yourself six times now, Mayleen! I will keep my mouth close unless it is useful evidence - I promise." Marilyn replies, eyeing her dark-haired assistant. She continues brushing her light hair as Mayleen turns around; walking through a doorway before she stops again.

They got the phone call from Marilyn's closest friend - Mycroft Holmes - who informed them that a recent brutal murder of a young woman has just taken place in London. Marilyn didn't even bother looking at the case file that Mycroft had sent - through email - to her about three hours ago, it was only when Mayleen started threatening her with banning cake from the flat that the blonde woman looked at the case file…

She was instantly fixed.

The murder of a 24-year-old Mabel Davidson. The victim was raped before and after she was shot in the head with a shot-gun. She was also sodomized and then repeatedly stabbed in the anus with a knife. Her organs were then removed and half eaten, her breasts left clean from blood or any knife mark. Her hair was also clean of any blood and her eyes left wide open. Davidson's right hand was then removed and with the blood, the murderer wrote two words on the wall:

_Marilyn Moriarty_

The blonde politician has seen and solved much more gruesome and bloody murders than this case. She has also solved many murders that have involved her name or her world-famous surname being wrote on something - thanks to her half-brother. She sent Mayleen over to London from where they were staying in Berlin after just finishing a manslaughter case.

"I'm passing you over to Detective Inspector Lestrade. Behave, please!" Mayleen says, her dark brown eyes pleading as Marilyn gives her an impish grin, putting down her hairbrush and facing fully to the webcam. She quickly makes sure her white shirt is covering her cleavage before she comes face to face with the DI.

"Hello…" Lestrade mutters, shyly. His cheeks tinted red as Marilyn sends him a small but charming smile, "I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade. Mr. Holmes has told us all about you."

"I hope he hasn't, detective. Otherwise you would be putting handcuffs on me now." Marilyn winks, chuckling at her own joke. Her past is dark. In her teenage years, Marilyn did many things she regrets and on through her early twenties when she started building The Moriarty Web. She manipulated and played with people's mind. _I moved on though: I'm that person anymore_, Marilyn thought quickly to herself.

Lestrade grins crookedly at her before returning to a neutral bored looking face. He awkwardly moves the laptop in his hands as Marilyn eyes him quickly:

_Grey hair but soft wrinkles - early forties then. Love bite on his neck, hidden mostly by his shirt collar as is he's ashamed - secret lover maybe secret gay lover. Looks after his teeth but a spot of shaving foam on his chin - lives alone. Dog hair on shoulder - Golden Retriever. Stain of baby food on shirt and bags under his eyes from lack of sleep - been looking after a young child possible siblings or his own. More likely his own. Possible three more children - four in total. _

"Call me Marilyn." She says, breaking out of her deductions with a slow blink.

"Greg then." The detective responds, looking over the webcam and muttering a line of swear words. "We have the younger Holmes brother coming to have a look at the scene again." Greg informs Marilyn as he quickly passes her back to Mayleen.

"He's cute." Mayleen comments, as if forgetting about the dead body in the next room. Muffled shouting can be heard as Greg closes the door behind him, locking the assistant and the laptop in the average looking kitchen. The worktops are marble with a kettle, toaster and bread bin behind Mayleen, the walls are off-white. That's all Marilyn can see as they wait for confirmation to be allowed in.

"He also has four children, a secret gay lover and is in his early forties. You are the complete opposite, Mayleen. You have no children, your straight and you're in your late twenties." The politician/detective replies quickly, looking away from her own laptop and biting a slice out of her toast.

"Maybe I like older men." Mayleen mutters back, more to herself than to her friend. Marilyn only raises a perfectly plucked blonde eyebrow back. Silence starts as the blonde continues eating at her breakfast, Mayleen looking around the modern kitchen.

"You can come in now," Greg calls from the doorway, before ducking quickly out and leading the way. "Be careful, it's bloody," Greg warns, looking down at Mayleen's two-inch black heels, jeans and cream blouse, "And it's getting rather smelly."

"How long has the body been here for?" Mayleen asks, her heels clicking softly on the wooden floors.

"About two hours now – possible three hours. Maybe even longer."

"Wow, Mycroft got them case films sent quickly to us." Mayleen comments as the door leading to the dead body is pushed open. The assistant quickly pushes down her gag and continues into the room, her eyes scanning the wall where the writing is.

"Mycroft is getting slow." Marilyn snaps back, leaning towards the laptop. Mayleen turns the laptop around, showing her blonde friend the murder. Two men are in the corner as Greg joins them. Turning her back to them, Mayleen waits for instructions.

Everyone stays silent. Only the slight muffle sounds of the Forensic Services packing away can be heard through the floor of the house. Mayleen looks quickly around the empty room. The walls are well painted and the floors a dark wood, a painting of a nude blonde woman is on the opposite wall to the blood writing. No windows or furniture.

"Move forward slightly." Marilyn commands, her strong posh English accent slicing through the silence and making the men in the corner shift. Doing as she asks, Mayleen quickly shifts so she's closer. The smell of blood rushing into her nose, making it hard to hold down a gag as Mayleen gets nearer to the dead blonde.

Mayleen then looks at the woman, her chest heaves in sympathy. The woman's ash blonde shoulder-length hair is spread out across the floor. Light blue eyes staring up at the ceiling. Lips open. Freckles covering her cheeks. Rounded shoulders. Perky breasts. Hourglass figure. Short legs. Large feet. Her whole body but her hair and breasts are covered in blood. Her stomach is cut wide open, revealing her intestines and even her ribcage. All her clothing has been removed as well, except her jewellery which is a necklace, bracelet and…

"Where is her other hand?" Marilyn asks, breaking off Mayleen's line of thought.

"What?!"

"Her hand! Her right hand, Mayleen!" Marilyn snaps, the assistant looks up at the three men. Greg's holding up a bag, containing a feminine hand.

"It's here. Want me to get it for you?" Mayleen asks, breathing deeply to control her anger. As much as she loves her dear friend, she has a short temper and Marilyn pulls her strings far too tightly.

"No, it's not relevant." Marilyn replies, in a snappy tone. Her tone of voice sounding deep in thought, properly pulling all the deductions into ideas, "I need to see her wedding ring, take it off for me and hold it to the camera."

"There is blood on the floor. How am I meant to do it without getting blood on the laptop?" Mayleen hisses back, her temper pushed to its limit. _It would be so much easier if she just came!_ Mayleen thought bitterly to herself.

"Use your brain! God knows it has to be used for _something_!"

A soft chuckle comes from one of the men, making Mayleen look up at them to smile quickly at the shortest of the men. He has thick dark blonde hair which has highlights of grey in. His hair is in a neat style, showing his smooth wrinkles which oddly enough made him look younger than older. His dark blue eyes are alight with humor as he looks back at Mayleen. She notices that his posture is straight and stiff: screaming military.

Blinking and looking away so it doesn't look as if she's staring, she takes the plastic sheet off Greg and places it on top of the bloody floor. Gracefully leaning down to place the laptop on the protective sheet, she quickly grabs a pair of gloves then swiftly takes the wedding and engagement ring off the corpse.

The engagement ring looks rather new, the diamond shining. However, the wedding ring looks old; scratched but polished. Holding the rings up to the camera, the angle the webcam is pointing at makes it so the men can see Marilyn close at work.

Her eyebrows scrunch together, creating frown marks and making her large eyes squint. Her looked-after teeth are gently biting at her lower lip as her hair frames her face. Her shirt is dramatically showing her cleavage as Mayleen notices the politician isn't wearing a bra on underneath, showing the faint outline of her rosy nipples.

"Interesting." Marilyn comments, making her assistant snap her attention back to the blonde woman's face. Mayleen leans forward, her full attention on her friend's face as she tries to figure out what Marilyn finds so fascinating.

"Care to explain?" Mayleen says slowly. Greg and the short man moving slightly as if hoping for Marilyn to explain more about the murder. The taller man whose body and half his face is covered by the collar of his Belstaff coat stays where he is.

"I'll be getting the first plane to Britain, Mayleen. I expect Mycroft has already got a private jet ready for me. I shall see you in less than two hours." And with that the genius ends the Skype call, leaving Mayleen staring open-mouthed at the laptop.

Her phone pings in the background, alerting her to a text:

**Won't need the crime scene. Just the body. They can pack away. Make sure nothing is messed with! -MM **

Shaking her head, she gives the instructions to the DI before shutting down the laptop and getting up off the floor. Carefully placing the rings in a plastic see-through bag, Mayleen makes her way out of the house and onto the street.

"Mayleen Harper?" A man with reddish-brown hair that's styled away from his face, dark blue eyes and a long nose speaks. He's in a three-piece suit and an umbrella in his right hand. A woman with the looks that would give a model a run for their money is busy tapping away on the blackberry. Her black eyes stuck on the screen of the phone as her coffee-brown hair hides most of her facile features.

"Mycroft Holmes?" Mayleen smiles politely, walking swiftly over. Mayleen's heels clicking on the pavement as she stops in front of the six-foot man. Her 5'6" frame feeling incredible small next to him, even if she does have an extra two inches on her height. Mayleen doesn't have the long legs that Marilyn owns, her legs are shorter and she's thinner than her friend. Perky breasts. Long dark silky hair. Small waist and hips. Thin legs and flat stomach.

"So, Miss Moriarty does speak about me." Mycroft smiles, looking strained and uncomfortable on his face.

"All negative things might I add." Mayleen replies quickly, the red-headed politician making her incredible distressed. She now understands why Marilyn calls him The Iceman and why she warned not to let him twist your own words, "What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?"

"Call me Mycroft, Miss Harper."

"My name is Mayleen." Mayleen answers back, shifting her weight onto her right side. The blonde and the Belstaff man stop on her left side, the tall one eyeing Mycroft with an icy stare.

"What are you doing here?" The tall man says, he's the same height as Mycroft though he looks taller next to the blonde man. Mayleen eyes him quickly. Curly raven black hair. Very light grey/blue eyes that also look green. Sharp cheekbones. Well defined cupid-bow lips that would make plastic surgeons jealous. The rest of the man's face is covered by the collar of his Belstaff.

"I am simple welcoming a guest, brother dear." Mycroft answers, his glare just as equally unwelcoming than his younger brother's. Mayleen raises an eyebrow, shivering slightly at the small breeze. Looking over, the body is being pulled out of the building and Lestrade is with two other police officers - a woman and a man.

"Mayleen, do you have a place to stay tonight?" Mycroft says, ignoring his brother. Mayleen looks up startled, mouth open as she tries to remember if Marilyn said anything about staying in London more than one night. Her phone pinged again:

**Let Mycroft get us a flat. At least he'll be paying for the rent. -MM**

Mayleen chuckles at the text before looking up at the impatient politician, "No, we haven't." Mycroft nods, before his assistant starts tapping away on her phone more violent.

"You'll be staying at 221B. The landlady - Mrs. Hudson - has two spare rooms upstairs next to Dr Watson's room." The red-head replies in a no argument tone. His brother huffs as Mayleen simply nods, "I have already got my people to move your belongings to the flat."

"Thank you." Mayleen answers quickly before his brother can speak.

"They cannot move into 221B, Mycroft! She's a relative of Moriarty! A spy among us, she could have planned this whole murder herself so she could move here without looking suspicious. You're playing right into the game, brother!" Mycroft's brother shouts, causing Lestrade to turn this way.

"You might want to know that Marilyn has five other full blood brothers that are currently living in London. You say that she might be a spy but what about her other siblings? She hasn't spoken to Moriarty face to face for a good eight years. I assure you that Marilyn wouldn't be as sly as to spy on you. She is blunt and can easily get the information - she needs - from you with a few words." Mayleen spits back at the young man.

Dr Watson grins as Mycroft sneers at his dumbstruck brother, "You see, Sherlock. Marilyn wouldn't do such a thing, maybe you should take Mayleen's advice and look up the other Moriarty brothers."

"I will catch her out." Sherlock sneers before giving both Mayleen and Mycroft a cold look before turning on his heels and calling for a cab. Dr Watson nods politely at Mycroft and grins at Mayleen before heading after his friend.

"Would you like to wait at the police station for Marilyn?" The politician asks, twisting his umbrella in his hand and looking past Mayleen towards Lestrade.

"I'd like to sightsee before I go to the station." Mayleen says, earning a nod off the Holmes brother.

"I will have a car pick you up in an hour in a half to take you to the station."

"Thank you…Again…" Mayleen blushes before turning around. Casting one last glance at the house, she makes her way down the busy streets of London. Avoiding the CCTV cameras like Marilyn taught her.

**X-X-X**

**Author Note: **I hope this chapter sparked your interest. I should also mention that Anderson will be more likeable in this series; I started to like him whilst watching Season Three and I hope – that with the influence of Marilyn – that he will be 'friendlier' to Sherlock. Anderson and Marilyn grow a close friendship/bond through this story but it won't change other characters and he, I think, won't be in it a lot. Any questions; ask away.

I have already written about ten chapters for this story but posting will be slow because of my studies, essays and school in general. I'm going to apologize now for the slow updates but I hope you stick with me. Please review and tell me your thoughts! They make me write faster and check out the link on my profile to see pictures of the characters.


	2. Chapter Two

**Author Note: **I will try to update every two weeks; sometimes earlier depending on how the muse hits me! Thank you for the following and favourites; much appreciated. Please review though; even if it's criticism. Enjoy.

**Warnings: **Mystrade, Sherlock/OC, a bit of Sherlock/Irene and a large amount of MorMor. Violent deaths, contains bad language, sexy times, family times, drugs, killings, Angst; jealousy, devotion, gory descriptions, BAMF Mycroft/John/Sherlock/Marilyn/James/Sebastian and much more. Might be a bit OOC; but I'll try not to! Enjoy and please review!

Any mistakes are my own; I do not have a Beta for this story. No copyright intended; I only own Marilyn, the murderers/cult/victims and the Moriarty family all apart from James. 

**CHAPTER TWO **

**ADDICTED**

Sherlock is eager. He hasn't felt this eager since Mummy took him to the dog breeder where he met Redbeard around 30 years ago. Everything Mycroft said about this Marilyn sounds different and unlike the idiots around him. In better words she sounds - perfect. The way she noticed the rings were well looked after was fascinating, she is definitely different. The other idiots believe it's her husband but - no - this Marilyn was able to notice that she was happily married, resulting in this being the work of a serial killer.

She surprised Sherlock just like John surprised him.

Even Mayleen was able to shock him.

Maybe he's growing soft.

Shaking the thought out of his head, he relaxes into the back seat of the cab. John sitting silently next to him, watching the world pass by through the window. Sherlock turns to his own window, his thoughts swirling with the new information he was able to gain.

His brother warned Lestrade, John and Sherlock about Marilyn. The name on the wall got everyone excited. A relative of Moriarty is a weakness that anyone would use to bring him down. However, Mycroft arrived using the excuse of this now being a 'government matter' because the name belongs to a powerful politician that Mycroft just happens to know.

Sherlock was curious.

Why would his brother keep a relative of Moriarty's secret? Is she just as dangerous? Does Mycroft care for her? Is she dead? What is she to Moriarty? Daughter? Mother? Sister? Cousin?

All the questions vanished from his mind when Mycroft started explaining. He informed us all that Marilyn was the half-sister of James Moriarty. That she is a Government Detective and the only one that Mycroft knows about. He also went on to explain that she has more power over the Government than Mycroft has; telling us all that she isn't someone to mess with. Marilyn is also no longer in contact with her half-brother and hasn't been for the last eight years.

All the rest of the information was irrelevant because Sherlock final deducted that Mycroft actually cares for Marilyn Moriarty. Mycroft continued explaining to Lestrade and John about her but all the data went in through one ear and went out the other. Sherlock just couldn't fit the idea of his brother having a friend through his head.

Blinking out of the memory, he climbs out of the cab. John closely following. They enter 221B, the smell of Mrs. Hudson cooking reaches his nose making his stomach rumble slightly. John instantly goes onto his laptop, stripping off his coat and turning the kettle on. Sherlock stands in the middle of the room, slowly undoing his scarf and taking his Belstaff off. He is still filing information on Marilyn.

"How do feel about two other people living with us, Sherlock?" John asks, typing something into his laptop but looking quickly up at his flat mate.

"Why would I feel different about where someone lives?" Sherlock snaps back. His light eyes moving towards the soldier. Sherlock suddenly feels self-conscious as if John can tell that he is in fact uncomfortable about having two other people living with them.

"You're not the most sociable of people, Sherlock." John points out, getting up to finish making his tea. Sherlock slowly sits down on the couch and gets his own laptop out, fixated on getting more data on the Moriarty family.

"Well done for pointing out the obvious, John!"

John rolls his eyes before sipping his hot tea, wincing as it burns his tongue. Sherlock turns his attention back to his laptop as he types in her name on Google Search. It comes up with a blog. The title of the blog called: THE OTHER MORIARTY. Snorting softly, John quickly looks up at him before returning to his own search.

Sherlock clicks on the blog, his fingers tapping impatiently on his knee as it loads. He silently curses the slow wifi and at John for using it when he needs it desperately. When the website finally loads, Sherlock scrolls down to see hundreds of cases wrote up and posted on the site. Sherlock also sees pictures of the assistant and Marilyn smiling, some pictures even of Marilyn and fans. Going onto the picture albums, Sherlock absorbs all the information he can get off of the pictures that would be relevant information. However, he can't get a lot. There are just as many pictures as there is written cases, some of the landscapes but most are of Mayleen or Marilyn.

"Bloody hell!" John curses, drawing Sherlock's attention off the pictures and to his flat mate. John's eyes are glued to his laptop screen as Sherlock frowns at him, "Have you saw how many followers Marilyn has? You know her blog that Mycroft mentioned?" John explains quickly, Sherlock raising his eyebrows as John rambles.

"How many followers?" Sherlock asks, feeling slightly embarrassed about looking at her pictures and not at the cases to see what competition he'll have in the future.

"Over 1,000,000!" John shouts, "She's fucking famous, Sherlock!"

"Obviously." Sherlock answers in a bored tone, looking back at the pictures. One of the pictures makes him pause and click to enlarge it. It is of Mycroft and Marilyn. They're both young. Mycroft with scruffy, curly, red hair and grinning widely at the camera. He's wearing a light blue button-down shirt - untucked - with black dress trousers and his normal black shiny shoes. An arm is thrown over the surprising small Marilyn. She comes up to his shoulders. Her hair up in a messy bun on top of her head, eyes bright, and lips pulled over her teeth in a large smile and her left hand rests on Mycroft's chest and the other is behind his back. She's wearing a red skater dress and black five-inch shiny heels, the dress making her breasts look large and her waist tiny.

Both of their eyes are wide and alight with happiness. Nothing about the picture is sexually, it's just shocking to see Mycroft actually smiling for once and not just sneering. Sherlock blinks slowly, interested to know more about their past.

"Holy shit! Is that Mycroft and Marilyn? They look like lovers!" John comments loudly, eyes glued to his laptop. Relief passes through Sherlock, relief that he isn't the only one just looking at the pictures.

"There is nothing sexual about the photo, John." Sherlock replies, huffing.

"It's weird to see Mycroft looking so relaxed and happy. You think he'll change when she arrives?"

"Not likely. Mycroft has been a cold twat for far too long, he's properly forgotten how to smile." Sherlock grin. John chuckles, shaking his head.

"Wonder if she's as good as it says on this website?" John says, closing his laptop and walking into the kitchen to make a sandwich.

"She's a relative of Moriarty; of course she'll be good. What you should be asking is if she'll enjoy games like her brother does or if she's dangerous."

"Well then, do you think she'll be dangerous?" John asks. Sherlock can practically hear him rolling his eyes.

"Yes."

"Care to elaborate?"

"She'll be as dangerous as Mycroft and Moriarty. She'll be manipulative and cold but I don't think she'll be violent. Look at her pictures, all of them she looks carefree and happy." Sherlock explains quickly.

"Can you deduce anything about her from the pictures?"

"Of course. She's an animal lover, had a string of dogs in the past; possible cats as well. Looks after herself, makes sure she looks presentable all the time because of the fame she's caught. Naturally blonde. Works hard but makes sure she sleeps reasonable. Has a large family, doesn't keep in contact with them all the time..." Sherlock trails off suddenly, realizing that's all he's able to get off her. Dumbstruck, he looks up at John who is silently eating his sandwich.

_Styled hair and clean-shaved - trying to impress someone. Date shoes. Bags under eyes - nightmare last night. Had jam this morning on his toast. On a date with Sarah Sawyer tonight. Worried about the restaurant he's chosen and if he'll have to leave halfway through. Hoping to get intimate with Sarah tonight. Showered last night. Cleaned teeth twice…no three times. Masturbated this morning. _

"You alright, Sherlock?" John asks, frowning at the genius as he continues staring at John. Sherlock blinks slowly before looking back at his laptop.

"I'm fine, John." Sherlock mutters, clicking off the pictures and looking through her cases. Each of them has stupid titles like John's but the grammar and the English used intrigues the detective. Sherlock soon found that he can't look away from the screen…

**X-X-X**

The sound of the front door slamming brings Sherlock's attention off the case about a clown serial killer that was killing gay couples and back into the present. John looks up from his book as Lestrade bursts in through the flat door, face red and sweaty. John stands up, back straight - ready for war but Sherlock simple closes his laptop and stands up calmly. Noticing that Lestrade's body language isn't ready for an attack.

"Marilyn is going to arrive soon. Mycroft told me to bring you all to the station; we're going to see what she's been able to find out." Lestrade huffs, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

Sherlock wastes no time in grabbing his phone, scarf and coat and quickly leaving the two confused and baffled men behind. Grabbing a cab, he shouts for John to take the police car with Lestrade before the cab takes off. His heart is slamming in his chest as his palms become sweaty, the eagerness returning and making him stuffy. Questions race through his mind again as he presses his finger tips to his temples and organizes the questions into his 'question' room. His mind is still racing though, like it always does, never stopping or calming down unless he has a case or puzzle.

Pulling his phone out of the pocket of his Belstaff, he flicks through the pictures he took of the crime scene. All the facts and data he has comes flooding to the front of his mind as he tries to organize them but thoughts of the golden-haired detective are pulling his attention from the case.

Huffing he puts his phone back into his pocket and looks out of the window, watching the world pass by. He's always wonders how people can have such boring and ordinary lives. Everyone seems to go university or college, get a decent job, fall in love, marry, have child and grow old. He finds that life so boring. But most of all he can't imagine himself having the ordinary life that everyone else has. He doesn't run like everyone else. He doesn't feel like everyone else. He blocks his emotions from the outside world and calls himself a high-functioning sociopath as a label. He was diagnosed as one as a young child but he has always know he isn't one and Mycroft knows as well. The Holmes family is just different and different is how we like it.

The cab pulls up in front of the station. Throwing a couple of notes at the cabbie, he walks straight into the building only noticing one of Mycroft's car parked at the front. The bottom floor is oddly silent as he climbs the stairs two at a time until he gets to the final floor.

As he creeps silently into the office, most of the officers are busy working except Donovan and Anderson who are chatting faintly to each other. Mycroft is sitting on one of the office chairs, his assistant also sitting down but tapping away on her phone. Mycroft is strangely shifting on his chair and rubbing his palms on his grey trousers as if he's nerves. Sherlock makes his way over to his brother. Hands stuffed in his Belstaff as he leans against the wall opposite his brother; John and Lestrade yet to arrive at the station.

"I'm surprised you came, brother dear." Mycroft sneers, his voice strong unlike his posture. _Back straight but shoulders rounded as if trying to cover his fat stomach_. Sherlock thinks to himself, even when he knows that his brother isn't fat at all, "You didn't seem pleased to hear that Marilyn was coming to London."

"I need to read her. Observe her as she works."

"Good luck with that, Sherlock. She's skilled and hard to read."

Sherlock snorts, eyeing his brother and comparing him to the picture of his younger self. Apart from the few wrinkles Mycroft has developed and the slight loss of hair, he still looks the same as he is in the picture. Only he now looks as if life is weighing him down and the happy spark in his eyes is none existent.

The door that Sherlock just walked through opens again, revealing Mayleen, John and Lestrade. Mayleen is still in her heels, jeans and blouse but now has her own phone glued to her face; reminding Sherlock of Mycroft's assistant. John is not so subtly 'checking out' the dark-haired girl, his eyes landing on her arse far too much and long to be friendly. Lestrade on the other hand is busy bossing around Donovan and Anderson, telling them to make drinks ready for the arrival of Marilyn.

"You mean THE Marilyn Moriarty is coming here?" Anderson repeats, his dark hair gelled backwards revealing his dark eyes and crooked nose.

"That is what I said, Anderson," Lestrade replies, breathing deeply and giving the man a bored glance, "So can you please get this place more presentable?"

Sherlock watches - secretly amused - as Anderson shoots up off his backside and starts cleaning up papers on the desk and making sure even the pens are straight on the desk. John laughs as he also watches Anderson act like a boy in the presence of his first crush.

"You shouldn't be laughing, Watson. Wait until you get addicted to the work she produces. It's like the work of an angel!" Anderson snaps at them as Mycroft's lips curl up in amusement, "She's a genius in the making! And a celebrity similar to England's very own Marilyn Monroe! And her beauty! She's like a goddess walking among us! I can't believe you have never heard of her before!"

Anderson looks up startled as Mayleen bursts out laughing, tears threatening to spill out of her eyes and to smudge her natural looking make-up; _it's the first time that the girl has relaxed around us_ Sherlock notes, "Wait until she hears that! My god, you'll be on the receiving end of the most charming smile for days!"

Everyone watches as Mayleen clutches her stomach and continues laughing, her phone forgotten about on the floor. Even Mycroft's assistant looks up from her phone to send Mayleen a humor filled smile. Mayleen stops laughing suddenly when her phone beeps from the floor, quickly scooping it up she reads the received text. Wiping her eyes with her hand quickly to get rid of any smudged make-up, she looks up; sending Anderson a devilish grin, "You better be ready because it seems as if your 'goddess' will be among us soon!" Anderson blushes before starting to make drinks, Donovan clenching and unclenching her jaw as she watches in annoys.

Sherlock quickly takes off his scarf and Belstaff, revealing his tailored black suit and light blue shirt. He ignores the odd looks both Mycroft and John are sending him as he leans - gracefully - back on the wall, his coat and scarf on the back of another office chair next to Mycroft. Lestrade quickly heads into his office before returning, a large case file and a pile of photos in his hand. Sherlock puts his phone in his trouser pocket, ready to work with his own photos. Mayleen sits down on an office chair, turning one of the computers on before typing away. _Her phone vibrating every 15 seconds as she replies each time; _the younger Holmes brother notes.

John sits down next to Lestrade. They both slowly look through the pictures, cringing at the photo of the knifed anus. The Holmes brothers are the only people not doing anything as they wait patiently, Mycroft only twists his umbrella with the tips of his fingers as Sherlock stares at the waiting doors with a hard look on his face.

Five minutes tick by before Mayleen stops typing and simple leans back in her chair eyeing the Holmes brothers weirdly before shaking her head and slightly cursing Marilyn for having such a strong effect on people.

Mayleen's phone vibrates the exact same time the doors fly open…


	3. Chapter Three

**Author Note: **Sorry for the slight delay; school has been manic! I'm quite nervous about posting this chapter for some reason but I hope you enjoy it. Remember that Sherlock is curious about Marilyn and become quickly enchanted by her. One review last chapter; thank you for reviewing but I'd love some more. Feedback will make my muse run faster. Oh also a friendly reminder that my OTP is JohnLock (although I love Mystrade and MorMor as well; oh, even Johniarty) so if this comes through slightly then I apologize greatly! Dig in!

**Warnings: **Mystrade, Sherlock/OC, a tiny bit of Sherlock/Irene and a large amount of MorMor. Violent deaths, contains bad language, sexy times, family times, drugs, killings, Angst; jealousy, devotion, gory descriptions, BAMF Mycroft/John/Sherlock/Marilyn/James/Sebastian and much more. Might be a bit OOC; but I'll try not to! Enjoy and please review!

Any mistakes are my own; I do not have a Beta for this story. No copyright intended; I only own Marilyn, the murderers/cult/victims and the Moriarty family all apart from James.

**CHAPTER THREE**

**COMPLETE DIFFERENT**

"Mayleen, I have a meeting next week with MI5 and M16 leaders and I also need to fill up my timetable so none of my brothers can contact me." Marilyn shouts, walking through the doors in a black pencil skirt, white shirt tucked into the skirt, black stockings and four-inch black heels. She has a gold necklace on, a cross hanging off it.

"Already set and done with the meetings. For MI5 its three o'clock in the afternoon on a Wednesday and for MI6 its 11 o'clock in the morning on a Friday." Mayleen answers back straight away, "Your brothers have already made contact, I told them to call you privately."

"Oh no!" The blonde curses, oblivious to everyone else in the room, "Which brothers?"

"All six of them, Marilyn." Mayleen answers carefully.

"All six brothers? Including James?"

"Indeed. He was actually the first one to get in contact."

"Great." Marilyn sulks, striping off her black blazer and flinging it on the back of Mayleen's chair. Her golden hair tumbles over her shoulders and down her back, framing her face and upper chest. The white shirt is the same one she wore on cam as it falls dramatically to show off her cleavage, however she's wearing a black lace bra that's noticeable through the shirt.

"How about this murder then?" Marilyn grins, finally turning to see the rest of the room, "Oh! Hello everyone! Sorry, I didn't think there would be so many people here!" Everyone just stares at her as she beams, slight dimples forming on her cheeks. Mayleen chuckles as Anderson blushes and looks away when her eyes turn to him, Mycroft is the first person to stand up and approach her.

"It's been a long time, Marilyn." Mycroft speaks, his umbrella left on his seat as Marilyn stares wide-eyed at him.

"Mycroft!" Marilyn says, almost childlike as she throws her arms around her closest friend. Her head just able to rest on the crease of his neck as she breathes in his familiar scent of fresh paper and cigarette smoke - which is strangely so Mycroft. Mycroft's arms wrap tightly around the blonde woman, body contact normally feeling weird to him but coming naturally to him when around Marilyn.

"I know I've gotten fat." Mycroft whispers into her ear just as they break apart. Grinning widely at each other, Mycroft's smile now makes him look a lot younger than he is and makes him look like his younger self in the picture.

"That's all crap, Myc! You look just as handsome as you did a year ago." Marilyn winks, pulling apart from him and looking at everyone else in the room.

"I'll introduce you." Mycroft says, turning back into his iceman and facing the rest of the room, "You've already met Detective Inspector Lestrade and the other detective is Sergeant Sally Donovan. From the Forensic team it's Philip Anderson."

"Oh! It's good to finally meet you in person Lestrade. I've heard so much about you!" Marilyn grins, making deductions off the detective as Mycroft nudges her in warning, "It's good to meet you Donovan and Anderson."

"Philip, please!" Anderson blushes, back straight as if determined not to show that's he's embarrassed. Marilyn sees right through the act and just smiles kindly at him, not in the mood to have a spluttering man with her today.

"Who else." Marilyn speaks as she sits down on one of the seats surrounding the photos and evidence. Her back is straight, showing that she's from a well-to-do family.

"We have Doctor John Watson and my younger brother Sherlock Holmes." Mycroft says, sitting down next to her. His umbrella back in his hand as his assistant taps away at her phone again. Mayleen also rapidly typing on the computer, sending out email after email and organizing meetings after meetings. Marilyn shakes Dr Watson's hand. Sherlock staying still, eyeing her with an icy sneer. Ignoring the immature git, she turns back to the evidence and starts walking her way through it. Shaking her head at some of the crap photos, she picks up the notes John has made and the close up picture of Mabel's hair.

"It's a targeted murder." Marilyn speaks, over passing the snort that Sherlock makes. Mayleen comes over, notebook in hand as she starts making quick notes, "Mabel Davidson was picked because she resembles me in some way, even her name does."

Sherlock makes no noise or comment after she speaks. Mycroft smirks over at his brother, whose trying to hide his dumbstruck expression. Marilyn is oblivious to the exchange as she picks up another picture of the woman's face and nods to herself, "Mabel was definitely picked because she resembles me. Natural blonde. Blue/Grey eyes. Hourglass figure. Similar lips and feet. Everything but the size of her breasts and the shade of blonde her hair is incorrect to me." Marilyn explains, "The murderer has even picked someone who has freckles, similar to mine but not as bold."

"What about the similarity to your name then?" John asks, his eyes skipping over photos before resting on Marilyn.

"Mabel is a nickname for Marilyn. It also begins with M." She continues, "The writing is also a big mistake. They shouldn't have written it on with his hands - even if they were gloved."

"It tells us that the murderer is male. Mid-thirties. Left-handed. Sexually Frustrated. Has a slight tremor in his hand; possible war related. Long nails; so doesn't look after himself." Sherlock speaks up, walking towards the table and picking up the picture of the writing. His eyes on Marilyn though as she smiles impishly at him.

"Brilliant." She says, her smile turning into a full-blown grin, "It's completely different hearing someone who observes the same way that I observe."

Sherlock's cheeks tint red as he looks down, clearing his throat before moving to the next picture. One of the stabbed anus,"Your turn." Sherlock speaks, smiling crookedly as she takes the photo.

"Stabbed neatly; possible past job as a butcher - Family business. Though he knew where to stab so maybe a student doctor that then went on to the army. He didn't cut her but just stabbed; penetrating not cutting. Sodomized. A lot of lube around the anus so raped her multiple times. Kept her alive for a long time before shooting her dead." Marilyn rattles off, looking back up at the bright-eyed consulting detective. His eyes looking a light green in the lighting.

Silence follows as the two geniuses stare at each other.

Mycroft clears his throat, a smile fighting its way onto his lips. Without sounding cocky, Mycroft always knew the moment he met Marilyn that she would get on extremely well with Sherlock, "Sorry to interrupt the eye fucking but this murderer sounds a lot like me." John speaks up, clearing his throat as he looks between Marilyn and his flat mate.

"It's not you, John. Obviously! You were with me the night it happened," Sherlock replies, breaking eye contact with Marilyn and turning to the doctor, "The murderer is tall which you obviously aren't."

John blushes and looks away, fiddling with the photos. Marilyn stares, eyes locked on the table and her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Mayleen and Mycroft are the only ones that notice that Marilyn is at the beginning of a big revelation. Though Mycroft notices the clenching and unclenching of her hands and her deep breaths; possible due to her being angry about something. Without a warning, Marilyn stands up; her chairs crashing to the floor - startling Lestrade - and breaking the argument between Sherlock and John. The blonde politician takes her phone out her blazer pocket and quickly types in a number before storming away into Lestrade's office.

"James." Marilyn growls into the phone, the office door slamming shut behind her. She knows no-one can hear or see her convocation thanks to Lestrade closing the blinds after him and Mycroft's quickie before anyone arrived.

"My dear sweet sister! What can I do for you today?" James's thick Irish accent soothes over the phone. He doesn't have the stupid high-pitched voice on that Marilyn finds incredibly annoying; if he did Marilyn would be screeching and shouting down the phone.

"You've heard about the brutal murder on a girl called Mabel Davidson," Marilyn replies, leaning on the desk and glaring daggers at the locked office door. The politician knows that James knows about the murder, James knows everything that Sherlock Holmes is involved in. His obsession with geniuses is creepy.

"I have heard. Terrible crime, absolutely dreadful." He speaks, sounding bored as a loud moan comes from the background, "Again I ask what I can do for you, sister. I'm a bit busy now."

"Did Sebastian or anyone from our web kill her?" She asks, tapping her finger nails on the dark wood of the desk, "It's a targeted crime on me as far as I can tell; no real evidence on this theory though until her strikes again."

"Sebastian has been here. On my bed. Naked. All day, sweet sister." The dark-haired Moriarty replies, creating an image in Marilyn's mind that makes her want to gag, "I will have trained killers and snipers trailing you all day, Marilyn. No one will harm you."

"I can look after myself, brother! I don't need your protection! Just because you feel obliged to look after me, doesn't mean you have to! Magnus, Franklin or my other brothers don't!"

"Your _other _brothers wouldn't know how to look after a goldfish if they were given one!" James replies, his voice threatening to shout, "You're the one that's lying to _everyone, _sweet sister. You've told them all we haven't spoken in eight years! We speak every fucking day! What would everyone think about that?"

"You wouldn't dare tell them!" She hisses back, pushing away from the desk and pacing around the office, "I could get you locked up and transported to Russia where they'd love to have your head as a trophy! So don't you dare start threatening me, brother! I am lying to protect you, like I lie for all my brothers to protect them!"

"I'm sorry for losing my temper, sister." James speaks. An apology is rare from any Moriarty so Marilyn breathes deeply to calm her anger and accepts the apology.

"I am sorry as well." She mutters back, "Thank you for the protection."

"You're welcome." The Irishman replies, sounding almost human. A giggle and a louder moan are followed by the reply. Rolling her eyes, she stares at the pictures on Lestrade's desk. Four children. A female teenager, boy and girl twins around eight and a girl toddler, "We should meet tonight." James announces his voice oddly soft. The voice he only uses around the two people he secretly loves and the only people who care for him: Sebastian Moran and Marilyn Moriarty.

"Fine! I'm living with Sherlock, how can I possible get past him?" She asks, more to herself than to her brother.

"Use your mind, Grumpy. Storm out of the room you're in, do one of your unique paddies you always do" He answers, the moans become louder and more frequent, "Sebastian wants to see you. He misses his little princess."

"Oh please stop with the nicknames. I'm not six anymore."

"No you're not but you're five years younger than me. This still makes you and always will make you a baby." He says, the moans turning into commands.

"I'm going to leave you two to it. I'll be over soon so please don't be having sex when I'm there." The blonde Moriarty puts the phone down before he can reply. Relaxing her stance, she gets ready to have one of her 'paddies.' Slamming the door to the office open, everyone turns her way. Huffing, she walks straight up to her assistant, "I need my gun." Marilyn commands, holding her hand out. Her face a perfect mask of anger.

"No you don't." Mayleen snaps back.

"That's alright. I can use a knife or a piece of rope." Marilyn speaks, grabbing her blazer jacket and turning to leave.

"Marilyn!" Mycroft says in a stern voice, "Who was that and where are you going?"

"What is it with people acting like I'm a little kid! I'm twenty-six years old! I phoned James and I'm going to see James. I am going to see if he was telling the truth about not being a part of this murder so please, Myc, let me do my job." Mycroft continues staring at the Moriarty, not blinking or moving before he nods slightly. Sherlock is about to protest but John stops him with a nudge of his elbow. Lestrade watches wide-eyed as Mayleen hands Marilyn her gun from the band of her jeans that is hidden under the blouse.

"I will meet you all at 221B later on." Marilyn speaks, turning on her heels and walking out. Leaving behind the speechless group who all are or becoming fascinated and bewitched by the other Moriarty…

**X-X-X**

**Author Note: **A reminder to please review; feedback is like ice-cream on a hot day! Also check out the link on my profile for pictures and outfits. Next chapter might not be up for a while; school is crazy at the moment. Hope you're enjoying yourself so far and stay with me.


	4. Chapter Four

**Author Note:** So sorry for the wait; school and family got in the way. This is the shortest chapter yet - again sorry - but I hope you enjoy. Thank you for the kind reviews; I am very grateful for them but I would love some more.

**Warnings: **Mystrade, Sherlock/OC, a tiny bit of Sherlock/Irene and a large amount of MorMor. Violent deaths, contains bad language, sexy times, family times, drugs, killings, Angst; jealousy, devotion, gory descriptions, BAMF Mycroft/John/Sherlock/Marilyn/James/Sebastian and much more. Might be a bit OOC; but I'll try not to! Enjoy and please review!

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**PLEASED**

Greg Lestrade has a dreadful feeling.

The kind of panicky, cowardly feeling you get when you believe someone has found a very true and very private secret about you. Adding to the dreadful feeling, Greg is feeling nausea. Even the thought of his secret coming out makes him want to bury his head in a toilet.

Don't get him wrong. He isn't ashamed of dating Mycroft. No. He definitely is not ashamed of dating a man, even a complicated man like the Holmes. The reason for the horrid feelings is the thought of what his family, friends…hell his children would think! He knows that if his friends don't agree with him being with a man, then they were never really his friend but the logical explanation for his homophobic family would be to kick him to the curb.

Like a rapid dog.

And if disowned by his family then the weekend he has once a month with his children would be taken away. His ex-wife wouldn't think twice about taking the kids away from him. She's just as bad as his parents when it comes down to same-sex relationships and religion. He grew up surrounded by a Christian family but takes no interest in any religion. He holds respect for religion but doesn't follow or get involved in it.

Now as he watches Marilyn Moriarty stride out of the room, her arse swaying naturally in the extremely tight pencil skirt. Greg can't help but watch the attractive woman leave before panicking about her knowledge between Mycroft and himself.

He knows Mycroft hasn't told her anything about their complicated affair - he is still technically married - but if Marilyn can deduce it, surely Sherlock can? Greg had voiced his worries about Sherlock finding out at the start of the relationship about three months ago but Mycroft had convinced him that Sherlock is oblivious to things related to sex and that he wouldn't find out unless we told him. His next concern was John, who was surprisingly alright with the whole relationship when he accidentally blurted it out on one of the pub nights. John has sworn not to mention a thing to his flat mate.

Now, three months later, his next worry is Marilyn. She obviously knows about the whole thing otherwise she wouldn't have made the comment that she made when he was introduced. And she wouldn't have gone into his office if the blinds were up; if she didn't know about the quick blowjob he gave Mycroft before everyone arrived.

And if the blonde genius deduced it, wouldn't the curly-haired genius as well?

Not meeting the eyes of anyone else, he quickly picks up all the evidence and makes a pile of the photos with shaky hands. He hears Mayleen finish off an email before turning off the computer and collecting her stuff. Mycroft's assistant walks out of the building, not looking away from her phone. Putting the photos into two folders, he hands one over to John who takes it with an encouraging smile before taking the other file into his office.

"Will you come back to the flat, Greg?" John asks, looking up at the tall man with big blue eyes. When Greg doesn't reply straight away, the blonde eye's turn into puppy dog eyes.

"Fine!" Greg replies, as John grins widely - happy that he's not going to be left alone all evening with the insufferable Holmes brothers, "I'll just get my stuff."

Greg can feel one of the Holmes's brother's eyes on his back as he quickly grabs a handful of paperwork before following the two dramatic brothers, the solider and the brunette assistant.

**X-X-X**

On the other side of London, Marilyn jumps out of the cab after throwing money at the cabbie and makes her way up the steps that leads to the large white house. The number seventeen is painted on the white pillars as she presses a manicured finger on the electric doorbell before waiting for the black heavy-looking door to open.

Shouting is heard before the door opens, revealing her brother's long-term boyfriend and ex-military; Sebastian Moran. His blonde curls are now dark blonde with highlights of lighter blonde in. He has blonde/ginger stumble around his mouth and chin and soft laugher and frown wrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead. His sparkling blue eyes are alive with glee as they land on the blonde.

He towers over her, his 6 foot frame shadowing her 5 foot 6 inch body. Her heels making her taller than she is. Sebastian is shirtless only wearing a low pair of ratty jeans; Marilyn averts her eyes away from the man's toned chest and "V" that leads towards his member. His chest is like a canvas, covered in scars off all shapes and sizes. Marilyn has seen her brother's boyfriend half-naked - and even naked - many times but it only seems polite not to stare. But - hell - he's looking splendid for a 37-year-old. Scooping her up into a bear-hug, she laughs as he clumsily shuts the door after her - not letting her go, "It's been too long, Muffin." Sebastian grins, using one of the many nicknames both of the men use.

"Eight years, three days, twenty-four minutes and fifty-eight seconds…" James speaks, hiding in the shadows of the oversized house. Marilyn can make out her brothers 5 foot 6 inch physique in the dark, his pale skin contrasting again his black Westwood suit and shirt. He steps forward into the light that's coming through the window on top of the door.

His black eyes lock onto his half-sister as he quickly scans her up and down; his dark hair is slit back with lots of gel. Marilyn notices the drop of cum that's still on the edge of his mouth as her brother's face remains indifferent. The emotionless face would have made Moriarty's employers run off in fear but Marilyn just finds the 'look' amusing as a smile fights its way to her lips. His defined nose and strong jaw line make the 'look' more powerful as well as the Westwood suits.

"Are you going to do something or just stare at me? It's kind of disturbing." Marilyn speaks, making a clicking noise with her tongue before shifting her weight to her left side. Her phone buzzes in her pocket but she ignores and doesn't break eye contact with her brother.

"Just making sure you still have a backbone." The Irishman says his accent thick against Marilyn's English accent. He flashes a sinister smile before pulling her into a hug that's just as tight as the taller man's hug. She sighs in relief as the smell of her brothers expensive aftershave fills her nose as she rests her chin on James's shoulder.

"I will always have a backbone, James. It's in our blood." She grins, pulling away from him as they follow Sebastian into the front room. The room is spacious with two white leather love-seats and an armchair with a foot rest. The walls are painted a light soft brown with valuable artwork hanging on the walls. The floor is a polished unmarked dark wood as three fairly large windows bring light into the room.

"This place is gorgeous. How did you manage to get it?" The blonde asks, sitting down on the leather armchair as the couple sit on the love-seat opposite. Sebastian quickly fills up three glasses up with whiskey and ice that's placed on the coffee table in front of the seats.

"Sebastian's army petition and my work, sister. You get a lot for being a consulting criminal. How did you think I paid for all my suits?" James answers, sipping the whiskey as he raises his eyebrows in a 'duh' motion.

"I just thought you threatened the tailor." Marilyn replies quickly. Making Sebastian smirk into his glass.

"And how did you earn all that money of yours? A horrid magazine called 'Glamour' said that you would be worth 100,000 grand for just a day if you become a private detective. What happened to the little teenage that had to join a strip club so she could eat?" James sneered, earning a frosty glare from the politician.

"I have told you this story a million times already, _brother. _And always at the end you brag about already having thousands of pounds in the bank when you were the same age I was." Marilyn hisses, Sebastian elbowing James lightly in warning. Sebastian knows that when the two Moriarty's argue they can scream down the whole of London - _hell the whole of Britain_ Sebastian thought.

"I do not do such a thing!" James gasps, actually looking appalled by the idea of flaunting his money around. _Dramatic git!_ Marilyn hisses to herself, the gun hiding in her garter belt feeling very tempting to use.

"Change of topic possible?" Sebastian asks, refilling his glass as he awkwardly shifts.

"Excellent suggestion, Sebastian." Marilyn smiles sweetly, placing her empty glass on the table and shaking her head when James moves to refill it, "So how's domestic life? I've got to say it suits you both, more Sebastian than you James. Who does the dishes and who cooks?" Marilyn teases, winking.

"Domestic life won't last for long, Munchkin!" James grins, "Daddy has bombings and killings to attend to and Sebbie has shootings to do!"

"Can you please not do anything drastic until I get this murder out-of-the-way?" Marilyn asks, crossing her fingers in hope that they'd agree.

"Well I suppose we could do some smaller crimes for a week or two. It won't take long will it?"

"I have a feeling it will. The murder was messy but very well-organized. Ex-army troop suffering from a tremor and sexual frustration." Marilyn shrugs, looking bored with the topic, "But you didn't answer my question! Who cooks?"

"You'll find that your brother is an excellent cook, Sweetie Pie." Sebastian grins, "Your brother is talented at a lot of things." Marilyn understands the double meaning of the sentence as she cringes and looks at the large flat screen TV which is on the wall to her right. She sees a flash of tongue and teeth in the corner of her eye.

"I'll just let myself out then…" Marilyn mutters, getting up and leaving a few notes on the suspected murderer on the coffee table. She manages to get to the hall before her brother skips after her, "Yes?"

"Where are you staying, sweet sister? I need to let my people know where you will be most of the time, including where you sleep." James says quietly so Sebastian won't overhear from the living room. Marilyn scoffs when he mentions 'my' people, they both know that it was Marilyn that got the Web together but its James that got the fame for it - resulting in the blonde being abandoned. However, over the years she has re-gained power over the Web and they recognize her as the upper leader; the top of the top. Above James.

"I'll be staying in 221B with Sherlock and his blogger. Mayleen will be with me as well also with the landlady - Mrs. Martha Hudson. I left descriptions of the killer on the coffee table; get the Web to keep an eye out. And if someone is suspicious tell me straight away, James." Marilyn replies in her politician - no argument - tone.

"I will, sis." He nods, pulling a lock of blonde hair behind her ear before kissing her cheek softly. His eyes flash with softness for the first time since she walked in, "Visit us again soon."

"Of course. You know I love tormenting you both about your relationship."

"You're incredibly annoying."

"That's what little sisters are for."

The blonde Moriarty turns on her heels and marches out of the house without a backwards glance. The flat isn't far as she ignores the taxi's that drive past and tucks her neck into the collar of the blazer to hide the warm skin from being attacked by the harsh cold.

**X-X-X**

Standing under the shelter of a bus stop. The man watches as the well-known Marilyn Moriarty walks by, her heels clicking on the pavement as she heads towards the flat where the consulting detective lives. He watches her every move as she walks by; the sway of her hips, the bounce of her breasts and the pout of her lips.

He takes a few pictures before sending them to his leader.

_He will be pleased._

_Very pleased._ The man thought, smirking before pulling his black scarf tighter around himself. His long untamed hair in knots from the bitter cold and greasy from the last shower he had weeks ago. _I __succeeded_, he thought to himself as he follows behind the woman as she turns down Bakers Street, _the boss will be pleased and might treat me to a human heart or liver for lunch. It was__ triumphed. Now it's to just keep Moriarty busy and engaged with her work so they can begin the next chapter!_

For now he has to go and find his next victim…

**X-X-X**

**Author Note: **Thank you for reading. Please review; makes my day. Also, if you are a fan of Marvel then follow mine and my friend's tumblr blog marvel-teasers for smutty teasers that you imagine your favourite characters saying. You can submit your own teaser to us; Enjoy! (A link will, hopefully, be up on my profile soon and we hope to start a Sherlock one very soon; more information when it's up; promise.)


	5. Chapter Five

**Author Note: **Sorry for the wait, my dear readers, school has been hectic. Enjoy!

Any mistakes are my own; I do not have a Beta for this story.

No copyright intended; I only own Marilyn, the murderers/cult/victims and the Moriarty family all apart from James.

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**A DAY LATER… **

**DANGEROUS**

Nirvana explodes through the silent flat, waking up Marilyn with a fright. She stumbles out of the large double bed, cursing loudly when she bangs her toe off the rocking chair in the corner of the room where her blazer jacket hangs on the back of it. By the time she's able to shuffle to the chair, it has stopped roaring; leaving her ears ringing and eyes drooping with sleep.

The light from the phone makes her eyes sting as she checks to see the time is only half five in the morning. Muttering more swear words, she sees that the number is unknown before flipping on the main light - she knows she won't be able to get back to sleep. Wants she's awake, she's awake.

Grabbing a sleeveless white shirt, skinny green jeans and white lace underwear; she leaves them on the bed before she makes her way downstairs towards the bathroom. Careful to avoid the squeaky step. The genius can smell a fresh experiment from the kitchen as she quickly walks through, the sound of muffled snoring coming from Sherlock's bedroom. She smiles softly to herself, knowing that he doesn't sleep very often.

The blonde and the detective work together like a house on fire. All yesterday - the day after her arrival - they worked together on the case, getting a rough idea of the murderer and getting a list of who the next victim might be. Mayleen and John left the two geniuses together, both of them going out for lunch. In between working, they did 'casual' talk - well it was mainly Sherlock rambling about his earlier experiments and murder cases.

Marilyn had listened, smiling when he looked up at her;all bug-eyed, messy curls and a childlike half-smile. She told him little bits about her past cases as he complimented her webpage. He seems to genuinely like her, not putting her under the category of 'idiot' like everyone else he works with and not judging her before knowing her; which most people do.

Turning on the shower and locking the door after her, she wipes off the smudged make-up that she failed to get off last night before stripping out of her knickers and vest top which she slept in. The warm water relaxes her tense muscles as she closes her eyes and goes into her 'mind palace' as Sherlock had called it. She chuckles at the memory of her and John's talk yesterday. He had stuttered and blushed before she assured him that she wasn't going to turn around and kill him when he wasn't paying attention. They had then talked like normal people - joking, teasing and debating the next football scores.

Rinsing off the honey smelling shower gel, she quickly washes her hair and steps out. Wrapping the light blue fluffy towel around her, Marilyn hears the sound of a violin playing in the living room as she brushes her fingers through her hair; forgetting that Sherlock took the brush yesterday.

Making her way through the kitchen where a human eyeball is floating in a glass of Ethanol, she looks up just in time to see Sherlock stop playing and turn to her.

"Have you got my hairbrush?" Marilyn asks, watching as Sherlock puts down his violin and sits on his armchair. He nods his head towards the fireplace, next to his skull before tapping away at his phone, "I'm sorry if my phone woke you, I really do need to put it on vibrate throughout the night."

Sherlock looks up quickly, his light eyes watching as a drop of water runs down her forehead, past her lips, down her neck and towards her covered cleavage before looking back down at his phone. Marilyn brushes her hair as she sits down in John's armchair, crossing her legs and making sure the towel covers everything before continuing to brush her hair,"I did not hear your phone. It was the shower that woke me." He mumbles, placing his phone down and staring at her. He tries to deduce more about her but everything is the same as what he got the other day - apart from the unmistakable such as her recent shower etc.

"Oh!" She says, using the end of the towel to towel dry the dripping ends of her hair. Her naked, golden skinned legs become far too noticeable for Sherlock as he observes every curve and scar on each leg without seeming interested. The detective discovers that the bare legs look smooth and polished, almost shining in the low lighting. He has a sudden compulsion to reach out and touch the velvety skin, something he has never wanted to do before.

"How did you sleep?" He asks, his eyes travelling back to her stormy eyes. _Now he's making chitchat? What is happening to him?_ He thought to himself, filing the questions into his question room.

"Very well. Mycroft has spoiled me with his bed choice; I've never slept in a bed as comfortable as that one. It's like sinking into candy floss." She grins, her freshly cleaned teeth glistening at the curly-haired man. He has no idea what candy floss is but her contagious grin encourages his own crooked smile, which feels stretch and odd on his face, "I had the strangest dream as well! How did you sleep?"

"Dull!" Sherlock whines, making Marilyn giggle.

"You think everything is dull, Sherlock." The blonde laughs, shaking her head, "There must be something about everyday life that you don't find dull."

Sherlock pauses, trying to pick out a good activity that he enjoys, one that doesn't evolve around murder. His mind palace comes up blank as he goes through it…

"Playing my violin isn't dull." Sherlock sulks, not breaking eye contact with the politician as she shakes her head in amusement. "Do you play an instrument?" He's incredibly curious to learn more about her, to finally make up his mind if she's a danger or not.

"I used to play the piano. Gave it up when I went University though, it's somewhere in here." Marilyn taps at her temples, placing the brush on the arm of the chair. She hears John coming down the stairs, stumbling on the squeaky step as a loud yawn is heard. She looks up just in time to see his eyes widen and flicker between the two detectives. To say he's surprised to see Sherlock get along with someone - that isn't him - is an understatement. He hides his impish grin as a plan forms in his head, hoping neither of them would deduce it.

"Morning, John." Sherlock grunts, his black shirt and trousers hidden underneath his blue dressing gown. His feet are bare as he stretches and flexes his toes. Marilyn waves cheerfully at him, trying to hide her yawn with her hand.

"What time is it?" Marilyn asks her hair almost dry already and her thighs sticking together from the heat. John is fumbling around in the kitchen before sitting down in the chair at the desk. He's wearing a white and dark blue checked shirt and dark jeans, he has his brown shoes on and his blonde hair is styled neatly.

"Quarter to seven." John answers when Sherlock ignores the question.

Marilyn nods, watching as John looks eager to ask something but stops himself at the last second. Getting up, she stretches, unaware that the towel raises dangerously and the two pairs of blue eyes that follow the movement of the towel. She leaves the two men alone in the living room as she gets up to change into the clothes she placed on her bed earlier. Brushing through her hair, she starts to curl it…

**X-X-X**

Back down the stairs, John moves back into this armchair as Sherlock stares at the door that Marilyn just walked out of. John grins broadly as he watches his friend; the dilated pupils and clouded expression is a dead give away to John. He has to stop himself from doing a happy dance in his chair. He always thought that Sherlock was asexual but the two days Marilyn Moriarty has been here, he's found Sherlock showing little signs of desire. Firstly, it was the blush when she complimented him the day she arrived and then yesterday it was the slight awkward flirting that Sherlock must have read from the internet.

Mayleen and John had to leave the flat because of the sexual tension Sherlock was transmitting yesterday but John honestly believes that both of the geniuses are unaware of the tension or flirting. John is confident that Sherlock is a virgin - all he need is someone to confirm it - but he's stuck when it comes to Marilyn.

He knows that the two detectives have created a quick but strong bond over the day and that Mycroft knows that they would get on well. 'All part of a plan' Greg had quoted from his lover when they went for a pint last night. Greg also believes John in his assumptions but Mayleen is certain that Sherlock isn't Marilyn's type.

Apparently Marilyn's 'type' is tall, muscular and shaggy hair.

Sherlock is the perfect description of that. Marilyn isn't tall - about 5'2" - so Sherlock's 6 foot frame is definitely tall to her. He's also lean but muscular – John's has had to stitch up his friend many times over the year he's know him and he's certain Sherlock has muscle hidden beneath the expensive suits and cold persona.

His friend also has shaggy curly hair.

He is the excellent match to her 'type.' Hell she might not even have a 'type' it could just be Mayleen bluffing. As he hears the kettle start to whistle he makes himself and Sherlock a cup of tea before he addresses Sherlock.

"So what do you think of Marilyn now?" John speaks, setting the mug of tea on the small side table next to Sherlock's armchair. He sits back down as he sees Sherlock still looking at the door, "Still think she's dangerous?"

"Dangerous: yes. A threat: No." He answers his voice distant as he blinks heavily and looks at the short blonde.

"You said and I quote: 'She'll be manipulative and cold.' Do you think that's true as well?" John asks carefully, seeing the flash of an unrecognizable emotion across his face, John thought for a second that it could be confusion.

"No, I was wrong." He whispers, eyebrows scrunching together, "Well partly right. She's manipulative, just like Jim but she uses it to her advantage and uses it carefully as well. She's a politician, John, of course she's manipulative." He sneers, the sneer looking abnormal with his dazed eyes, "Not cold though. Definitely not cold." He mutters, more to himself than to John.

"What is she then?" John asks slowly, his voice soft and low.

"Affable, gregarious, meticulous, fearless, encouraging, unbiased, vivacious, enthusiastic, thoughtful, open-minded, unselfish, humorous, gentle, polite, level-headed, cunning, dominating, incredibly intelligent and just…brilliant." He speaks, as if answering questions inside his mind palace and not realizing John is still here, "And so much more…"

If this was any of John's other mates talking to him, he would have pat their back and told them that they've fallen hard for the person. However, this is Sherlock. Sherlock is different. If John tells Sherlock what he thought, his flat mate will run a mile and banish the feels that he is clearly trying to embrace. John believes that it is impossible to fall in love with someone with only days between meeting them and he knows that it isn't love for the detectives - yet. _A clear attraction, tenderness and fondness - hell even devotion._ John doesn't voice his thoughts. The last thing he wants is his friend to withdraw from something so close to romance.

_It's showing that you're a romantic, Watson_ - he thought sorely to himself.

He just smiles friendly at Sherlock as the detectives eyes widened. He looks on the verge of a panic attack, which John would have found hilarious if it wasn't for the worry he's feeling for his mate. The doctor side of him is about to come to the surface, just as Sherlock starts to speak.

"Is this sentiment, John?" He says, slowly. The word – sentiment - no longer laced with the venom it's normally wrapped up in, now it's full of wonder and interest.

"Only you can make that decision, Sherlock. I don't know your emotions." John replies, wanting to just scream '_yes_' at the stubborn detective. He busies himself with making tea and only glancing at his dazzled flat mate, who seems to be lost in space.

Banging is heard from upstairs, following by a '_bloody hell_.' The thick English accent is distinct as it echoes down the stairs towards the lads. Both raise an eyebrow at each other as another loud shout continues and an argument beginning. John drains the last of his tea before beginning to cook a large amount of bacon for the ladies upstairs. Sherlock follows him into the kitchen, his robe dangling off his arms and ready to fall off. His suit jacket creasing from sitting down awkwardly for too long and his eyes wide, looking like an excited child on a sugar rush. Mayleen stumbles down the stairs, the smell of bacon making her stomach grumble and mouth water.

She's dressed in a baggy grey sweater with a head of a panda on, worn-out jeans and purple converse. Her hair is neatly straightened as her make-up free face shines from the bright kitchen light. A silver ring with a small love heart on is on her index finger. Mayleen's dark doe-eyes eyes are already locked onto her phone before she's even sat down next to Sherlock on one of the kitchen stools.

_Nice to see the furniture actually being used_, John thought happily to himself. Grinning like a fool as he turns around to flip the bacon. Mayleen snorts but continued to type away, Sherlock leaning slightly her way to try to '_casually_' read the emails.

"What is that god awful smell?" Marilyn asks, button nose crinkling in dislike as she enters the kitchen. A sleeveless white button down shirt tucked into a pair of skinny green jeans and finished off with six-inch black heels. A black blazer is hanging over her arm as she slumps onto the seat nearest to the fringe and in front of Sherlock.

"Bacon, want some?" John asks, buttering a roll and getting sauce out. Mayleen nods her head as John places a bacon roll in front of her and the same to Sherlock.

"Oh! No thanks, John." Marilyn smiles, shaking her head, "I'm vegetarian; a bet James and I did when we were children. Still haven't lost yet!" She winks, grinning proudly to herself.

"Oh!" John says, settling down the spare bacon roll on the side. His shoulders slump in disappointment as he looks around the kitchen for something that isn't meat.

"No worries, John. My people will be getting the shopping for us later, if there is anything that anyone wishes to have then just put it down on the list." She reaches into her back pocket, pulling out a shopping list as Mayleen licks her fingers to get rid of the dripping sauce. Sherlock isn't touching his roll. He watches Marilyn; eyes squinting as he examines her. Trying to deduce more things about her but coming up blank, John nods with a smile before eating away.

"What will you have to eat?" Sherlock asks, looking down at his own roll.

"I'll find something to patch up in a minute." Marilyn winks, speedily typing a text to Mycroft and Greg before jumping off the tall stool. The short girl wobbles on her heels before gaining her balance and walking over to the fridge. Her blonde curls bouncing as she giggles at the head in the fridge. "What's with the head?" She grins, grabbing the last of the eggs.

"I'm calculating the saliva." Sherlock shrugs, turning around so he can continue staring at the blonde. She busies herself with scrambling some eggs and buttering some toast, ignoring the intimidating, icy coloured eyes, "It's nearly complete so I can remove it by the end of the day."

John's jaw drops. He chokes on his mouthful of bread and bacon as Mayleen gently pats his back. Sherlock is going to empty the fridge of body parts because Marilyn seems _disturbed_ by it? He asks himself, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. Sherlock pretends not to hear or see John choking as Marilyn moves alluringly around the kitchen.

"The head doesn't bother me, Sherlock. I've had much worse in my fridge but it's very kind of you to suggest." Marilyn replies, just before Mayleen speaks.

"Are you going to eat, Sherlock?" Mayleen asks, picking up John and her own plate as Marilyn sits down with a full plate. The dark-haired detective's eyes flicker from Mayleen, to the plate, to Marilyn. He gives a small nod before taking a bite out of the roll, John smirking behind the paper he's just picked up as Marilyn makes little noises of pleasure whilst eating her food.

"Do you believe that food slows you down, Marilyn?" John asks, curious to know if it will change his flat mate's view on 'transport'.

"No." Marilyn shakes her head, "I believe that food helps the brain. Energy and all that."

Sherlock looks up at her, chewing slowly on a mouthful of food. John can tell that Sherlock is filing away information in his mind palace; he can also tell that Sherlock is looking for some way to argue back at her. "Food is Marilyn's love. All she does is eat when she's on a case, helps her think. A habit she's picked up off Mycroft apparently!" Mayleen speaks, shaking her head and rolling her dark eyes.

"Food is the only love anyone needs in life, May!" Marilyn replies, smirking softly as she uses Mayleen's recently new nickname. Mayleen winks back at her, a silent convocation passing between them as Sherlock pushes his empty plate away. John stares open-mouthed at the empty plate, even the crumbs are gone.

"You're going to catch flies, Johnny!" Marilyn smiles, using her recently orange painted nails to close his jaw before sitting back down on her stool. Sherlock runs a hand through his curls, pulling slightly as he watches the exchange. An unexpected and bizarre feeling running down his spine and making his chest squeeze unpleasantly. He quickly picks up the finished plates and throws them into the sink before going to get the case file, hoping the feeling will vanish. A pair of eyes are following him as he sticks pictures up on the wall around the mirror. John is continuing to read the newspaper as Mayleen makes cups of tea.

Marilyn comes into the living room, turning her laptop on as her phone buzzes in her hand. In her other hand is a make-up bag as she places the phone on the table and comes over to the mirror. Standing next to the sulking man, she pulls out the make-up she's using. Sherlock watches from the corner of his eye as she gracefully smudges a cream into her skin. He has no clue what she's doing - all he knows is that her movements are captivating.

"You know you'll go cross-eyed if you continue looking from the corner of your eye, Sherlock." She speaks, giving him an impish smile. The heels she's wearing make her reach up to his nose as he looks down at her, turning all her way. Shaking her head, she continues adding eyeliner to her bottom lid but only a small amount he notices. The blue in her eyes stands out as she adds a bit of golden eye-shadow before blinking and adding mascara. He has another itch to reach over and caress her flushed cheek, but he shakes it off and turns his attention back to the pictures. Her phone starts playing Nirvana again as she quickly picks it up.

"Marilyn Moriarty speaking." She answers, not having enough time to read the phone caller ID.

"Marilyn, its Greg." Came a reply, she breathes in relief that it isn't any of her brothers, "We have Mr. Davidson with us at the station. Mycroft said you'd like to question him, to get data for your theory." Greg continues, as Marilyn looks up at Sherlock who raises an eyebrow at her.

"I'll be there in less than ten minutes, Greg." She answers, hanging up and slipping on her blazer jacket, "Are you coming along Sherlock?" She asks, Mayleen quickly running up the stairs for a jacket.

He nods, getting his phone and Belstaff before heading down the stairs. Mrs. Hudson's telly can be heard as they walk past, John following after Mayleen…

**X-X-X**

Mr. Davidson is definitely not the killer. By just a glance towards him, Marilyn knew that he's devoted to his wife. And fiercely protective of her. It was the first time in a long time that Marilyn feels sympathy for another. The husband just wraps his arms around himself and broke down in front of her as she passed him Mrs. Davidson's rings.

He's still wailing as Marilyn pays for a taxi after questioning him.

With one suspect off the list, Marilyn waits for Greg to get in contact with Mabel's parents as she looks back over the photos. Everyone else is doing something else. Mayleen went out to meet up with an old friend as John went to work, Sherlock returned back to 221B to finish his experiment when Marilyn snapped at him for making the grieving man cry more.

She's staring at the anus picture when a white liquid mixed among the lube makes her sit up straight and look up at Anderson. He comes over when she waves him down, blushing brightly and tripping over the leg of a chair.

"Did you keep a sample of the lube?" Marilyn asks, getting her phone out of her pocket and messaging both of the Holmes brothers.

"Of course. It's currently being examined at Barts." He answers, looking at the photo just as Greg came out, "Why?"

"There's sperm mixed among the lube, Anderson. You can see the difference close up. The lube is a kind of off-white," She speaks, grabbing the picture and pointing it out, "The killer has messed up, he probably thought he wiped all of it off or maybe he thought that we wouldn't notice among all the lube and blood."

"He used the lube to cover up the sperm." Anderson repeats, "I found it strange that a rapist would use lube when he's about to rape his victim."

"Of course! I can't believe we missed this!" Marilyn screeches, kissing Anderson's blushing cheek before skipping out of the door, "I'm going Barts, I shall text you the name of the killer."

And with that she struts out of the police station, unaware of another killer watching her…

**X-X-X**

**Author Note: **Please review, my dears, helps my muse!


	6. Chapter Six

**Author Note: **I have chapters up to Chapter Eleven wrote already so I'm posting quicker than I normally would. I am half way through Chapter Twelve but when I do eventually meet up to what I am writing than updates will be slower. Enjoy and please Review!

**CHAPTER SIX**

**A WEEK LATER…**

**JIM**

Rory Malcolm is the name of the killer. Was in the military until he got shot in the arm, nerve damage stopped him from being able to join back. Recently ended engagement with a Mary Morstan is the reason for the sexual frustration because of a five month-long separation before they split two weeks ago. He got fired from his office job a couple of months back, lost his house and lives on the street.

None of Sherlock's homeless network has heard of him though.

He seems to have vanished from thin air. No one - not even Mycroft - can find him, it's driving both geniuses insane as they snap and spit at each other. They both argue at each other before running off to sulk until one of them apologize, mainly Sherlock who gives a rusty apology to her all the time. It's been a week since Marilyn found the hidden sperm and nothing has happened since. Well apart from her brother blowing up half of Baker's Street to try to gain Sherlock's attention, he's made sure his half-sister was with Sebastian when this happened and nowhere near the blast.

Sherlock has started the game with Moriarty this morning after he got a message from a pink phone that was left unharmed in the blown up flat across the flat. The message had led to both John and Sherlock finding a pair of familiar trainers in 221C. Marilyn kept her mouth shut. She knows that if anything comes out, she'll spoil the game for her brother. Sherlock was given twelve hours to solve the case otherwise some woman will get blown up. Marilyn has already overruled the order from her brother; she's made sure that if Sherlock gets it right the woman will be set free and not shot like her brother planned. So this is how Marilyn ends up chatting with John about his girlfriend in Barts as Sherlock examines a pair of trainers.

"When is your next date?" Marilyn asks, drawing circles on a nearby notebook as she refuses to look away from the dreaded trainers that caused her such misery when she was a child. She's told both men that she will not get involved in the game and promised not to alert James to their findings. She's still confused about them not yet re-asking her about the trainers. When they asked before, she just shrugged and continued typing out a recent case she'd just finished.

"In a couple of day's time. I'm thinking of taking her to see the new X-men film." John grins, about to continue until the brunette - Molly Hooper – walks in. She blushes when her eyes land on Sherlock, Marilyn rolls her eyes in annoys at the brunette. _She's so weak and hopelessly in love_, the politician thought bitterly to herself, _reminds me so much of my mum's acting with my father when around guests_. The way Molly stutters and blushes over the consulting detective makes Marilyn want to throw up all on the white, polish floor beneath her but at the same time she slightly envies the small girl for being able to express her emotions however she pleases; no matter how obvious she expresses them.

The blonde chokes on her hot chocolate when James comes striding in after Molly. Looking all clumsily and…_human_.

He gives her a small wink before standing next to Molly as she introduces everyone - well introduces Sherlock, forgetting Marilyn and John's names - as she grins at the short man. John sends Marilyn a puzzled look as he straightens his back into his 'Military pose.' John introduces himself as James says a rushed Hi and turns to the detective.

"Ehm…Hi! So your Sherlock Holmes, Molly's told me all about you!" James grins, clapping his hands together as Sherlock ignores him and continues looking down his microscope, "Are you on one of your cases?" He asks, stepping around Sherlock until he's on the other side of him.

"Jim works in IT upstairs! That's how we met." Marilyn has to look away to hide the smile that spreads across her lips at her brother's games, "Office romance." Marilyn can't help the snort that escapes, Molly and 'Jim' turns her way as she hides in the dark - leaning against the wall.

"Oh! You're Marilyn Moriarty! Molly didn't tell me that you worked here for cases as well." 'Jim' grins, leaning across the table to shake her hand. A piece of paper is in his hand as she grips it tightly, not saying anything about it. He gives Marilyn an exaggerated grin before stepping back, "Your brother is the mad one that's going around bombing places?" He asks, Sherlock looks up from his microscope to quickly give him a once over before looking back.

"Something like that." Marilyn replies.

"Gay." Sherlock mutters, making Molly stop giggling and 'Jim' to turn back towards Sherlock. His full attention is back on his microscope as Molly swallows thickly.

"Sorry what?" She snaps as Sherlock huffs and looks Marilyn's way. Marilyn gives him a slight nod that confirms that she's seen what he's seen; 'Jim' is definitely gay. _Well, a flamboyant gay_ Marilyn chuckles to herself. John sees the exchange but doesn't comment as Sherlock turns back to 'Jim'.

"Nothing. Ehm, hey!" Sherlock says, looking incredibly uncomfortable as Marilyn smiles warmly at him. Finding an awkward Sherlock a cute Sherlock. His light eyes quickly flicker to her before landing on 'Jim' again.

"Hi." 'Jim' says, before knocking something off the table. John stands back, shaking his head as Molly closes her eyes in defeat. Sherlock just watches as 'Jim' picks up the object that fell, Marilyn noticing the piece of paper that was in his hand slip under the objects as he places it back on the table, "Sorry, Sorry!" He panics, Marilyn smirking broadly from her place on the cushioned chair.

"Well I better be off. I'll see you at the fox. Around 6ish." 'Jim' says, wrapping an arm around Molly as she nods enthusiastically and lovingly. Marilyn almost feels sorry for her being involved in the game. 'Jim's' eyes never leave Sherlock as they mutter a bye to each other, "It was nice to meet you." The dark-eyed man speaks, waiting for a reply from the ignorant detective.

"You too." John answers as he scratches his chin. 'Jim' nods Marilyn's way, the dark-eyes flashing excitedly to her. Marilyn nods back, playing with an apple she brought for her lunch. He walks out, not looking back.

"What do you mean gay? We're together!" Molly hisses, her jaw tightening making the bones in her neck stand out; putting Marilyn off her apple.

"And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you." Sherlock replies, not looking up.

"Two and a half." Molly replies, stubbornly.

"Mm. Three." Sherlock snaps. Marilyn chuckles, noticing the small outline of Sherlock's lips curving up slightly at her laugh.

"Sherlock-" John warns, before being cut off by the brunette.

"He's not gay! Why'd you have to spoil-" Molly shouts, her fists clench as Marilyn looks back and forth between them.

"Pft! With that level of personal grooming!" Sherlock huffs, the cocky side of him coming out. Marilyn rolls her eyes as John looks from her to Sherlock.

"Just because he puts a bit of product in his hair." John answers, forehead wrinkles in confusion and irritation, "I put product in my hair!"

"You wash your hair. There's a difference." Sherlock replies, "No no. Tinted eyelashes. Clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines, those tired clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear."

"His underwear?"

"Visible above the waistline. Very visible. Very particular brand. That plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number underneath the dish here and I'd say you better break it off now and save yourself the pain." Sherlock suggests, standing up as she runs off. Marilyn bites into her apple, wishing it's popcorn.

"Charming! Well done." John grumbles, standing in front of his friend.

"Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?" Sherlock asks, his eyes not hiding his hurt and confused expression. Marilyn wants to see them bright eyes fill with emotion more often - which she finds strange. Shaking the feeling away, Sherlock's eyes flicker to her before going back to John.

"Kinder? No, No, Sherlock. That wasn't kind." John replies, walking out of the room. Marilyn watches him go before turning back to Sherlock as he looks at the door.

"You don't know a thing about human nature." Marilyn answers, throwing the apple away and walking around the table to lean on the table next to Sherlock.

"Nature? No. Humans? No." He smirks, his eyebrows rising and eyes alight with mischief. Marilyn nudges him playfully as she sniggers, trying to ignore the disturbing trainers. He nudges back before indicating that he's going into his mind palace. John walks back in just as he becomes lost in his thoughts.

John doesn't speak but slumps into the chair Marilyn has just left.

Marilyn pulls her vibrating phone out. Seeing James's number, she excuses herself and goes outside. "Brother." She answers, not being able to hide the smile in her voice as she stands outside. Her fake leather jacket hiding her from the grim wind and her black jeans covering her legs, she's glad she put on grey ankle boots this morning and not heels. Even if she was her normal 5 foot 2 inch physique.

"Sweet sister, how lovely it was to see you today! Did you like my little game?" His sinister smirk can be heard through his voice, "I've got to say that it was boringly easy. Molly Hooper is far too easy to seduce."

"Molly Hooper is in love with Sherlock Holmes. She'd do anything to grab his attention, James." She replies quickly, "It has reminded me that I've missed the silly games. Moriarty's can't seem to get away from the games. We're fixated!"

"Indeed we are, Munchkin." He answers; the sound of a car engine can be heard in the background.

"What about Sebastian? What did he think about you 'seducing' Molly Hopper?" The politician asks as she watches a line of taxi's speed by.

"He laughed. Then shouted. Then claimed me."

"EWWW! Too much information, brother!"

"You asked, Sissy! I have got to go, Marilyn. Sebastian to calm and people to stick with semtex."

"It sounds like an average day." Marilyn laughs before exchanged bye's and heading back into Barts…

**X-X-X**

_How the in bloody hells have I got from having a nice pleasant lunch with Mycroft to ending up at a swimming pool with my two male flat mates having snipers aimed at their heads?_ Marilyn asks herself as she walks silently through the pool doors. She sees John standing with semtex on him, red dots aimed at Sherlock's head as her brother stands in his Westwood suit.

"Run, Sherlock!" John shouts, holding James back. He sees the red dots and stops, thinking twice before stepping back.

"Oh! Good. Very good." James grins, his accent coming out thick and high. They start talking about sentiment, pets and loyalty as Marilyn looks up at the snipers, noticing Sebastian and three other snipers. Going up the steps leading towards them at the balcony, she ignores her brother's irritating high pitch voice and stands behind the snipers.

"Do not shoot at any of them." She orders after coughing to alert them to her presence, "I will have you all tortured and fed alive to vultures if you even fire one bullet." Even Sebastian nods at her order, knowing that she's in her 'Moriarty' role and not the reasonable Marilyn. She turns away and goes back down the steps, messaging Mycroft that no-one will be harmed by snipers as she looks at her brother as he steps out of John's grip and shouting 'Westwood' to Sherlock.

**Place surrounded by agents. MH **

She scoffs at her friend. Mycroft knows that she won't let her brother be taken by the government and that she's already noticed two secret ways to get out of the building without her agents finding out. She doesn't register the start of her brother's speech but by the time she looks back up she hears the end;

"I will burn the heart out of you."

Marilyn's heartbeat races up as Sherlock looks down in shame quickly before looking back up, his face indifferent, "I have been reliably informed that I don't have one." He speaks, his blank voice making Marilyn's stomach twist. Her palms become sweaty as she slips her phone in the back pocket of her jeans, her gun tucked into her jeans.

"But we both know that's not quite true." James says, cocking his head to the side, "I've been watching you, Sherlock Holmes. You have become quite obsessed with my little sister. You know I can't have that. My sweet sister needs protecting, Sheryl! And you're a threat. Your feelings towards her are becoming sentimental and I consider it a risk." Marilyn steps forwards then, clearing her throat which gets them to turn quickly this way. All eyes wide with shock. She goes to step next to Sherlock so she can lower the gun in his hand; plucking it out of his hands she puts it next to her own gun – in her jeans - before turning to her brother.

"James." She says, observing as he waves his right hand slightly and the red dots disappear, "I don't know why you're so surprised I'm here. I'm a politician. I have eyes all around the city and I'm also head of the Web, brother. They tell me everything." She speaks clearly, her eyes threatening.

"I haven't forgotten, Sissy. I was just having a nice chat with your flat mate, nothing to worry about and certainly not dangerous enough to have your agents surround the place. Or was that The Iceman's doing?"

"Mycroft is only protecting his baby brother." She replies, going over to John and stripping him of the semtex. Her brother doesn't stop her which is a good sign, when they're both in their 'Moriarty' roll they can scare and kill each other and not care. Sherlock is rubbing his left wrist, a nerves gesture he does without knowing, "Why don't you boys put away your toys and grow up, I was under the influence that you both have above average intelligence."

"How threatening and hurtful!" James gasps dramatically, holding his hand to his Westwood suit, "You keep interrupting my games, sister. I will have Sebbie restrain you until I have finished if you don't stop. It is annoying."

"I haven't got involved the past five days when you've played picture games on that dreadful pink phone. Picture games? Seriously? Have your games really become that boring, brother dear?" Marilyn mocks, throwing the semtex behind Sherlock as she moves to stand in front of the two men.

"What about your game of cat and mouse? The detective game? When will you get bored with that, sweet sister? Very soon I believe. You just need a reminder of how fun and thrilling the killing and playing with people minds or emotions are. I will remind you, Marilyn, and you'll be begging to get involved. You just need something to tip you over the edge. Possible your own emotions?" James sneers, his eyes sparkling with glee but Marilyn can make out the panic in his eyes.

James knows that when Marilyn gets involved in a dangerous game she becomes the complete opposite to the woman she is.

"You will be waiting a long time, James." Marilyn smiles sweetly; her brother's eyes soften for a split second; the politician notices his relief.

"I better be off. So nice to have this chat. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Bye, Blondie." James winks, before heading towards the male showers where one of the two available routes out is.

The blonde turns towards the men, John grabbing onto one of the cubicles so he won't collapse. Sherlock's eyes are stuck on where James left as Marilyn takes her phone out and messages Mycroft;

**Moriarty has gone. Brother and Watson are safe. Lunch tomorrow after my M16 meeting? -MM**

_**Agents haven't got Moriarty. Must have slipped through. Only if there will be cake and good wine. MH **_

**There will always be cake for you, Myc! -MM **

_**Good. Pick you around 2ish. MH **_

Pocketing the phone, John is back on his feet; panting and looking as white as a sheet. Sherlock is looking at the blonde, not blinking as she shifts uncomfortably, "We should get back before my brother changes his mind. Mayleen is outside with a car for us." She speaks quietly, almost bashful. She's taken aback when Sherlock gripes her into a strained but pleasant hug. His curls tickled her cheek and he crouches at an odd angle so he can reach her, she breathes in his comforting scent of aftershave and lavish shampoo. She only notices when they pulled apart that he's sniffing her hair - not questioning him - she only raises an eyebrow.

"Home? And I'll explain the Carl Powers thing?" Marilyn asks, hoping that they could get out before the semtex explodes or something like that happened. They both nod as all three of them walk out, Sherlock tightly holding onto Marilyn's hand…


	7. Chapter Seven

**Author Note:** I'm moving house next week and won't be getting internet till at least Tuesday - possibly longer - so I won't be able to update for a while.

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**INVOLVED**

Sherlock tends to Marilyn straight when they enter 221B. He takes her jacket before racing upstairs to grab her ratty superhero pajama bottoms and purple vest top. John watches bemused as his flat mate ambushes Marilyn to take a warm bath. She doesn't even argue back as he pushes her through the kitchen and into the bathroom. John stands in the middle of the living room, sweater handing off his shoulder, as he watches Sherlock fuss around. The doctor is positive that Sherlock even brushes the dust off the fireplace before he sets it alight. The heat from the fire seems to unfreeze John as he makes his ways to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

Sherlock rushes past him and puts his ear to the bathroom door. Nodding to himself when he hears splashing and running water before closing his bedroom door. John frowns at the door before making two cups of tea and a hot chocolate and sitting down on his wrecked and over comfortable armchair. He hears the water drain out from the bath as he gently sips his boiling tea, not feeling the burning.

The flame in the fireplace flickers and dances as John stares into the flames; hypnotized as the log and old newspaper slowly burn. It doesn't even bother him when Sherlock comes running out of his room causing a chilly blow of air to hit his gradually heating arms. Sherlock bounces onto the couch, his blue robe dangling off his lanky form as he swigs his pyjama covered legs over the arm of the couch. His raven black curls are sticking out in random directions as his wide eyes close in concentration; his fingers pressed together under his chin.

The bathroom door clicks open after two minutes of silence. Gentle footsteps patter on the floor as they go through the kitchen and towards the living room. Sherlock leaps forward out of his thinking position and into an upright position as Marilyn awkwardly shuffles into the room. John places his empty cup of tea down as Sherlock swings his arms around indicating that Marilyn sits on his armchair. The blonde breathes deeply before looking up at the other blonde; John gives a small smile of encouragement before Marilyn settles down into the back of the armchair and closes her watery eyes. The consulting detective coughs impatiently as the other detective takes a while to start talking.

"Take your time, Marilyn," John says softly, his eyes not leaving the blonde's face, "There's no rush."

"I grew up in Bath with my five siblings; Magnus, Franklin, Nicholas, Nathan and Douglas." Marilyn pauses, eyes still closed, "My father had an affair on my mother when the twins - Nathan and Nicholas – were around two years old. My mother was pregnant with Douglas at the time of the affair. The woman is called Dorothy Boat. A model from Dublin, Ireland. Mother has never forgiven my father – she didn't leave him but she never truly loved him the same way as she did before the affair.

"Dorothy thought it would be wise to visit whilst she was pregnant and whilst my mother was still trying to get over the betrayal. Franklin was eight at the time and he's told me that Mother used to curl up in bed with Magnus, himself and the twins whilst they could hear Father shagging Dorothy a couple of doors down."

Marilyn pauses, her grey eyes opening and landing on John as she gives him a soft smile. Sherlock is staring open-mouthed from the couch, desperate to receive Marilyn's attention, "James Moriarty was born three days after Douglas. My mother fell in the love with both boys so she tried to get along with Dorothy just for James's sake," Marilyn gives a watery smile, "James adored and still does adore my mother. Dorothy was never the mother he wanted her to be; Mother was perfect with him.

"Unfortunately they had to return to Dublin when James was three and my parents tried to rebuild their relationship. My brothers say that they often didn't get to sleep because of the arguments and crying and mother often slept with them most nights. However, they seemed to have survived because five years after James was born, I arrived." Marilyn chuckles, eyes flickering to Sherlock as he gives her a subtle smile.

"Apparently I was born screaming and kicking into the world. I apparently only stopped crying when my mother shoved a baby bottle into the mouth. But we all grew up in a world where love was sleeping with other people, where love was arguing and seething at each other. It wasn't a way to grow up. My siblings stayed away from me as I grew up; either too old to deal with a young girl or going through the boy phase of 'all girls are disgusting'. It was only when James came to visit me for the first time that I finally realized what being loved and cared for was like.

"James didn't care that my intelligence was way above a five-year-olds or that I enjoyed playing with animals rather than going anywhere near a person. He understood me." Marilyn argues, her legs crossed underneath her as she starts rocking herself, "Dorothy and James moved to Bath when I was seven. It was throughout the summer holidays – the same year they moved to England - when James killed for the first time." Marilyn licks her lips, looking from Sherlock to John, "I was doing a swimming competition when it happened. James had been in England for a month now; he took me to all my swimming lessons and even stayed to watch; unlike my parents.

"He always seemed to notice that when I swam with the older ones I came out of the changing rooms' red eyed and sporting a new bruise. He never questioned me though; there was always a look in his eyes that told me he knew exactly what was going on. So during a competition in the holidays when Carl Powers was always present at training; always cornering me in changing rooms and laying one on me. James had enough.

"You know what happened next." Marilyn finishes head down at her lap as she picks at her nails. John's close enough so he's able to see the tear that falls down her face. Sherlock stays silent – much to John's surprise. His eyes are trailing down Marilyn, trying to deduce more about her as John tries to fight the urge to comfort her. Marilyn wipes the back of her hand over her cheek before looking up, eyes determined as they land on Sherlock.

"You must understand, Sherlock. That when James is involved, I am involved. He taught me what real love is, what caring is. Don't get me wrong; my mother adored me, she spoiled and still does spoil me rotten but the conflict with father and her lack of grasping my intelligence never helped."

Sherlock nods, eyes not leaving Marilyn. He gracefully gets up before kneeling in front of his armchair, "What about your father?" He asks softly. His hands reach out to grip Marilyn's.

"My father is jealous of my mind, Sherlock. He wants what I've got. We used to be close – apparently – before I started storing information and talking. My first word was photosynthesis which was extremely creepy for my family." The politician giggles as John cracks a grin, Sherlock only raises an eyebrow. John notices that Sherlock is drawing small circles on Marilyn's palm; both oblivious to their actions. _For geniuses they're both idiots_, John thought to himself.

No one speaks as Marilyn closes her eyes and tilts her head back, going into her mind palace. _Was it a palace to her?_ John asks himself before smiling. Picking up Sherlock's empty mug he places them in the sink before heading upstairs, casting a quick glance at the detective to see Sherlock tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

Shaking his head, he makes his way upstairs.

**X-X-X**

Sherlock doesn't care that the fire is burning out. He doesn't care that John is sneaking looks at him. He doesn't care that Marilyn's hot chocolate has long since gone cold. He doesn't care that his feet are becoming icy cold. He doesn't care that Mayleen is upstairs working all night. He doesn't care that the fingers in the fridge are beginning to make the flat smell.

All he cares about is the blonde woman in front of him.

So maybe he does need to care that the fire is burning out – she could get cold. Maybe he does need to care that John is sneaking glances – rumors could start which can damage her career. Maybe he should care that her hot chocolate has gone cold – she might be thirsty or in need of something warm in this freezing flat. Maybe he does need to care that Mayleen is working all night – it could also damage Marilyn's career. Maybe he does need to care that the fingers are making the flat smell – it could put her off and make her move out.

But instead he just watches her as she enters her mind palace.

His curiosity is just growing the more he's around her and it's not helping the work. Some of his questions have been answered but it has also only created more questions for him to answer.

Not being able to deduce her is driving him insane.

The fire is completely burnt out as he gets up off the floor. Looking down at her, he notices that her breathing has labored out. Quickly calculating that the journey up the stairs will wake up John and Mayleen and will most likely wake Marilyn up. Also the sofa will make her sore when she wakes. He looks down the hall towards his own bedroom. Quickly walking towards the bedroom, he puts the books that are lying on the bed into a messy pile on the floor before striping away his dirty sheets and grabbing a fresh sheet. His seamless silk sheets tumbled out of the cupboard in the hall, picking out one, he makes his bed for the first time.

Going back to Marilyn, he lifts her off the armchair and towards his bedroom. Her head rolls onto his shoulders and her hair tickles his chin and chest as he carries her. It's only when he's placed her in between the expensive sheets that he notices he's picked out his vivid red sheet. Sherlock stares at the blonde, the red making her tan stand out and her blonde hair seem lighter.

She snuggles further into the sheets, sighing in comfort.

Sherlock stands, his robe hanging off his shoulder as he watches the silk sheets cling to her body. Her bottom looks curved and larger than normal underneath the sheet and her legs look muscular and long but Sherlock knows that her legs aren't as long as they look now - but her legs are muscular from running around London after criminals. He also knows that her bottom is round and plumped, as if tempting him to bite and caress.

Blinking out of his sudden thoughts, he looks down in horror at the tent forming in his pyjamas. _I haven't had a, erection since my teenage years_, Sherlock thought to himself; his pulse racing. He stands frozen, staring down at the erection. A muffled moan comes from Marilyn; making his penis twitch and swell even more – making it strain against the pyjama bottoms and a small wet patch to appear. _I should have put on underwear!_ Sherlock seethed to himself, picking up a fresh pair of pyjama bottoms before storming into the bathroom.

He remembers to be quiet as he closes the bathroom door and starts up the shower. The pipes creak in protest as he steps under the spray of water – the temperature turned to the coldest it can go. Unfortunately he can't seem to remove the images of Marilyn's curvaceous body and sun-kissed skin out of his head.

The cold shower does not kill his sex drive.

Groaning, he turns the temperature up so the room starts steaming up; the warmness stopping his shakes. Wrapping a large hand around his swelling cock, he moans at the contrast his cold hand brings. Slowly he brings his loose fist down over his glands and towards the base, the touch making his hips jerk forward.

"Fu-uck…" His voice is a low growl. The word feels strange on his lips as it's ushered – Sherlock hardly ever swears; Mummy would kill him if she heard him. He arches his back against the shower wall, the coldness making his balls clench. His strokes turn rough, narrow and fast; nothing gently about it. His left hand travels towards his balls; slowly brushing against his scrotum.

Images of Marilyn's body flashes in his mind palace, making his cock twitch and hips thrust violently. _What would she do if she walked in on me now? Would her blue eyes widen at the sight and her pupils dilate?_ He breathes a chuckle at the thought. Imagining her joining him in the shower and observing the way he fists his cock. He could picture her eyelids drooping and her head falling back to reveal her elegant neck and thumping pulse.

He grunts as his hand increases in speed over his strained cock. _Would she lead me back to the bed? Teach me how to pleasure her?_ If she did, he knew he would follow her every step like a submissive student: kissing up her thighs and stripping her of all clothing to reveal tanned legs, the fleshy skin of her toned stomach and bouncing breasts. _Would her vagina be hairy or merely a few wisps of golden hair?_

He snarls viciously, his hand holding painfully tight on his cock and balls. His thrusts meet each stroke vigorously as he images Marilyn kisses down his neck and running her nails lightly down his chest. She'd take his hand and place it on her breast; still watching him with lust filled eyes. Her lips would inch closer; her breath fanning his face as her Channel perfume and delicious natural scent fills his nose. Her lips would glaze his, soft and welcom-

He comes with a shout of her name and a grunt.

His seed spills on the shower curtain as he continues to caress himself as he grows soft. He smirks at himself as he cleans his come off. _If my fantasies of kissing her was like that, then what would it be like to actually kiss her? To be taught the powers of sex by her?_ A small but curious smile shapes his lips as he steps out the shower.

He's going to find out.

No matter how long or how tedious it will be; he's going to pursue her:

The woman who has gained his interest. The woman who has brought out his sexually side. The woman who he wants.

She will be his – no matter what.


End file.
